388 the night, and I ain't seen him, I ain't seen him,- and I come to you "; or the sound of Mr. Christian's breathing, its harsh- ness, its inhuman drag and rasp, coming from beyond the wall that night when he had stood staring at the shadowy, white door, and had waited vainly for Lucille Christian to come to him—he could remember the slightest detail of such, an incident, but he could not torture himself into the old response that had been the lively truth of that moment There was only the new numbness, the new isolation. He was not afraid. He told himself that he was not afraid He had no intention of letting them catch him. But he was not afraid of them. If they tried to catch him there would be trouble. He felt, without ever phrasing it to himself, that that much, a least, a man owed to himself. The fact that he was hunted and couldn't show himself to people and had a price on him, that fact was, he was sure, not the fundamental fact for him. Even at the time when Willie Proudfit brought him one of the handbills offering the reward, that fact had not seemed the fundamental thing. His picture was on the hand- bill. He knew which photograph it had been made from, one he had taken, a little while before he was married, to give to May. They must have had it from the photographer in Bardsville, Beneath the picture it read: "Two thousand dollars reward for the capture of Percy Munn, wanted for murder." "Hit looks lak they want you bad," Willie Proudfit had remarked. "Yes," Mr. Munn had said, "it's a lot of money." "They got them handbills ever whar. You better keep lay-en low, Over at Thebes they got 'em all over the settle- ment, on walls and telephone poles, and lay-en in stores." "They didn't nail Doctor MacDonald," Mr. Munn told him. " So it's me. They're bound to nail somebody." Then the bitterness came into his tone. " And I didn't do it. What- ever else I've done, I didn't do that. Somebody else did it-----» Willie Proudfit nodded.